The Highlander's Tactical Marriage
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Jenni Fletcher
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Chapter One
‘Nay, Uncle, you can’t mean it. Not him! Anyone but him!’
Coira Barron staggered backwards, feeling as if she’d just been kicked in the stomach. Her nerves had been on edge ever since the summons from her uncle-in-law had arrived the day before, but the reason behind it was even worse than any of the dire possibilities she’d imagined on the eight-hour ride to his fortress. So much worse that she was doing the unthinkable and arguing back. There was no way that such defiance was going to end well, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself, the words pouring out of her mouth as if her tongue had a mind of its own. Fergus MacMillan was the last man in Scotland she ever wanted to set eyes on again, let alone marry!
‘Please, Uncle, I beg you.’ She shook her head so violently that one of her own dark braids escaped from beneath her headdress and hit her in the face. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see various members of Brody’s household muttering and tutting with disapproval, not that there was anything new about that, only there was something different about it this time, a gloating undercurrent that sent an icy-cold shiver rattling down her spine. She knew that the only reason they still accepted her was because of her son, Gregor, but their antipathy had never been quite so obvious or overwhelming before.
‘You’ll do as you’re told.’ Brody MacWhinnie, the fearsome head of his clan, had a voice as cold as the granite outcrop his hall was built on.
‘But he must hate me after what I did!’
‘Pah.’ Brody’s shrug implied that whatever her prospective bridegroom might think of her personally was of little importance. ‘That was a long time ago.’
‘I still doubt he’s forgotten,’ Coira retorted before lowering her head, sensing she’d gone too far as Brody’s pale eyes flashed. Briefly, she thought about prostrating herself on the floor and imploring him to reconsider. Honestly, if he wanted her to crawl around the entire hall on her hands and knees then she was prepared to do it, but hard experience had taught her that Brody MacWhinnie viewed the world from one, and only one, perspective: his own. And once he’d made up his mind, there was nothing anyone could do to change it, least of all a mere woman.
‘Forgive me, Uncle.’ She strove to sound suitably meek and dutiful, the two qualities she knew he valued most in the female sex. ‘You just caught me by surprise, that’s all, and my understanding is only feeble, not like a man’s.’ She gritted her teeth at the words, peeking up through her lashes to see if they were having any effect. ‘Perhaps you could explain to me why I need to marry at all?’
‘Because of the threat from the Campbells! The MacMillans and the MacWhinnies need to stand and resist them together.’
‘But we can still do that. Surely a marriage isn’t necessary? Let me defend Castle Barron!’
‘What do you know of battle strategy?’ Brody’s lip curled scornfully. ‘It was one thing to let you mind the place for your son while we had peace, but matters are different now. That bastard Alexander Campbell intends to reclaim all of the territory he lost twenty years ago, which means that we need to be ready to defend ourselves. This is war and Fergus MacMillan is one of the fiercest warriors in the Highlands. If anyone can hold Castle Barron, then it’s him. I don’t want the Campbells’ army getting anywhere near my lands.’
So that was the truth of it, Coira thought, dropping her eyes to the floor so that Brody couldn’t see them narrowing with contempt. The head of the MacWhinnie clan didn’t want the inconvenience of fighting Alexander Campbell or his son Calum himself. Far better to get a MacMillan to do it for him. If that meant sacrificing her in marriage to a man who despised her, then so be it. And despised was probably a polite way of putting it...
‘But why has he accepted this marriage? He’ll never be Laird—not when my son’s already inherited the title.’ She straightened up as a new strategy occurred to her. ‘Unless he’s planning to push Gregor aside and take his place once the fight with the Campbells is over? MacMillan lands are only a stone’s throw from Castle Barron. How do we know that’s not really his plan?’
‘Because he’s already given me his word that it’s not.’ Her uncle-in-law rose to his feet, a sure sign that he was beginning to lose patience. ‘He might be a ruthless son of a bitch on a battlefield, but he’s a man of honour, too. More honourable than my nephew was anyway. What the two of you did brought shame on both of our families and there’s been bad blood between us and the MacMillans ever since. This marriage alliance is a way of finally remedying that.’
‘You mean it’s already decided?’ Coira heard the note of despair in her own voice. Defeat was beginning to feel inevitable.
‘Aye. From what I gather, he wasn’t best pleased with the idea of marrying you either, but the bargain’s struck. He’ll have what’s left of your dowry as well as Castle Barron for more than ten years until your lad’s old enough to take over. As for his reasons, he’s doing his duty to his clan. As I expect you to as well.’
‘But what if—?’
‘Enough!’ Brody’s voice hardened. ‘I refuse to debate my decisions with you, nor any woman.’
‘Yes, Uncle.’ Coira schooled her features back into submission. If the bargain was already struck, then she was truly wasting her breath. How foolish of her to think that she might be allowed a say in the matter of her own future. Even more foolish to imagine that her uncle-in-law might actually listen.
A fresh bout of bone-rattling horror shuddered through her body, making her limbs shake with a combination of tension and panic. Surreptitiously, she glanced around the hall, acutely aware now of the gloating expressions on the faces surrounding her. No doubt they were all thinking the same thing—that this was her long-awaited comeuppance, no more than a woman with her jaded history deserved.
‘I ken you’ve not been a widow long.’ The hard set of Brody’s jaw softened infinitesimally. ‘But this is what my nephew would have wanted, for Castle Barron to be protected for his son. No matter what.’
‘Yes, Uncle.’ Coira swallowed miserably. That much was true. Nevin would have given an arm and a leg for his son. Maybe even a hand for his daughter. And not so much as the tip of a finger for her.
‘Then the matter’s settled. You’ll marry Fergus MacMillan as soon as he arrives at Castle Barron, likely within the week.’
‘Yes, Uncle.’
‘And there’ll be no running away this time, is that clear?’
‘Yes, Uncle.’
‘Good.’ Brody came to loom over her, so close that she could smell the reek of sour ale on his breath. ‘Be an obedient wife, learn to curb that sharp tongue of yours and who knows?’ There was a flash of grim humour in his eyes. ‘Maybe he won’t hate you so much, after all.’
‘Yes, Uncle.’ She curtsied and turned away, leaving the hall to the sound of mocking laughter.
‘What happened?’ Grizel, her maid, came rushing across the bailey the moment Coira emerged into daylight, her bouncing, ruby-red curls attracting their usual amount of male attention. ‘You look as pale as a ghost.’
‘I feel like I’ve just seen one. Or I’m going to soon. Come on, let’s get out of here.’
Coira seized hold of her maid’s arm and made straight for their horses. The sooner she escaped the confines of Brody’s fortress, the sooner she could vent her feelings. And if she couldn’t do it with a cudgel over the MacWhinnie’s head, then a good, full-throated scream out in the glen struck her as extremely appealing at that moment. The way she was feeling, she could probably start an avalanche.
‘You’re starting to worry me.’ Grizel threw her a nervous look. ‘Surely it wasn’t that bad?’
‘Ha!’ Coira shoved her foot into a stirrup, swinging one leg over the back of her palfrey so roughly that the animal shied sideways. ‘He’s ordered me to marry again.’
‘Marry?’ Grizel let out a squeak of high-pitched indignation. ‘But it’s barely six months since Nevin’s accident!’
‘I know, but he claims it’s what Nevin would have wanted.’ She made a face, thinking once again that Brody was right. Her husband had always had a dark, twisted kind of humour. Her present situation probably would have amused him, just like anything else at her expense.
‘Does he have someone in mind?’
‘That’s the worst part.’ Coira beckoned to the half-dozen riders she’d brought along for protection. ‘The man he’s chosen is Fergus MacMillan.’
‘No!’ Grizel sounded appropriately horrified. ‘Surely not?’
‘Surely, yes. And it was all decided two days ago. The only reason he summoned me here was to tell me his decision.’ She glared over her shoulder at Brody’s hall. ‘He probably thinks that I ought to be grateful he bothered telling me face to face at all, the cowardly, self-centred, miserable, old—’
‘Shh.’ Grizel nudged her horse closer. ‘At least wait until we’re through the gates.’
‘Aye.’ Coira sucked in a deep breath and then let it out again slowly, biting back a string of invectives. ‘It’s just...’
‘I know. Fergus MacMillan of all people.’
‘Exactly!’
‘After you ran away from him.’
‘It wasn’t quite like that.’
‘On the eve of your wedding, too.’
‘Aye...’ Coira shuffled uncomfortably ‘...but only because there was no other way. I honestly wished that I could have gone and discussed the matter with him instead, but he wasn’t the kind of man you could just talk to.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He didn’t talk! No more than he had to, anyway, and hardly ever to me. We can’t have exchanged more than a few words and most of those were mine. The only thing we had in common was our age.’
‘I’ve heard of his reputation. Is he really so fierce?’
‘Aye! He might have been handsome otherwise. Black hair, dark eyes, strong features...’ She paused for a moment, remembering how unexpectedly breathless she’d felt at her first sight of him only three days before their wedding, premarital nerves battling a strange sense of excitement. ‘But always frowning! All he ever did was stand and scowl at me. Like this.’ She clamped her brows together so fiercely that her eyebrows met in the middle. ‘No matter what anyone says, it wasn’t as if he wanted our marriage either. He made that very clear. His pride might have been damaged when I ran away, but that’s all.’ She tipped her head to one side. ‘Although I admit that I could have timed my leaving better.’
‘You thought you were doing the right thing.’
‘Mmm,’ Coira murmured non-committally. In all honesty, she’d never thought that, not exactly. No matter how monosyllabic or intimidating she’d found Fergus MacMillan, running away from Sween Castle in the middle of the night to marry Nevin Barron instead had struck her as a poor way of repaying his family’s hospitality, even if she had only been following her brother’s orders. Not that anybody else had ever known that. As far as the rest of the Highlands was concerned, she and Nevin had fallen in love at first sight and risked clan war to be together. Not even Grizel, her one true friend over the past four years, knew the whole truth.
She heaved a sigh of relief as they rode out through the fortress gates and joined the track south, though her spirits refused to lift as they usually did at the sight of the wild heather-and-pine-clad hillsides and snow-capped peaks towering around them. It was still August, but some of the trees in the valleys were already showing hints of red and orange, signalling the impending arrival of autumn.
The thought brought with it a heavy sense of foreboding. Her spring and summer of freedom were well and truly drawing to an end. After Nevin, she’d hoped that she’d never have to marry again, but if it was truly necessary then surely Brody could have found somebody else? Somebody kind, ideally with the capacity to smile once in a while? Somebody who might have been a friend and companion. She didn’t expect or even want love, not when she had no intention of returning it. She’d tried that once and the experience had scarred her for ever. All she wanted now was a quiet, uneventful life, free from bitterness and rancour and insults. Surely that wasn’t so much to ask? Instead it seemed she was destined to follow one bad marriage with another.
What if it was even worse?
Her chest constricted at the thought, as if there were a steel band around her ribcage, squeezing tight. A year ago, she couldn’t have imagined a worse husband than Nevin and yet here she was, on her way to marry a man she’d very publicly rejected and humiliated. A man who probably loathed the very thought of her and was doubtless even more angry at the situation than she was. It was like some kind of cruel joke! She might almost have suspected that Brody had planned it on purpose, except that his reasoning was sound. Castle Barron’s position on the edge of MacWhinnie territory did make it vulnerable to attack and the fact that Gregor was only five years old even more so.
She leaned forward over her saddle, urging her horse into a gallop. At least Fergus was an honourable man, as Brody had said. His reputation preceded him in that regard. Warrior though he was, there had never been rumours of any cruelty or brutality. He wouldn’t physically hurt her, of that she was reasonably certain, but there were other ways to cause pain. Which of those would he choose? How long would it be before he sought his revenge? And who outside the confines of Castle Barron would even care? No one, that was who.
‘Is there no way to get out of it?’ Grizel rode up alongside, her voice sounding as if it were coming from a long way away.
‘Short of joining forces with the Campbells and declaring war on all of my neighbours...?’ She took a couple of seconds to seriously consider the possibility. ‘No. I can’t defy Brody and my brother won’t do anything to help me. I doubt he’d reply even if I sent word. I’m on my own.’
‘Well, then...perhaps Fergus MacMillan won’t be so bad?’
‘How many warriors are more approachable at twenty-three than they were at seventeen?’ Coira snapped before shaking her head apologetically. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t take my temper out on you.’
‘It’s all right, I understand. All I’m saying is that the situation might not be as bad as you think. People can change and six years is a long time. Neither of you will be the same person now that you were back then.’
‘Aye.’ Coira smiled half-heartedly. It might have been a long time—she herself had changed more than she’d ever imagined possible and probably not for the better—but she had a feeling that a warrior like Fergus MacMillan would have a much, much longer memory.
